Needed
by Daisukino
Summary: A certain dominatrix visits Sherlock in the hospital after being in a coma for almost three months. What happens while there just might surprise her.


She walked out of the cab, turning around to grab her black leather bag and close the door. Pulling her phone out of the right pocket of the dark grey cashmere coat, she walked across the street. As she approached the building, her black heels clicking on the pavement brought the unwanted attention of a few filthy drunks. They dog-whistled their appreciation of her body, but she ignored the noise, favoring the information on her phone. She knew those bums could afford to buy all the booze they wanted with just a peak at the unlimited amount of information on her mobile, but chose not to think about it. She also knew what happened to fools with money.

As she entered through the automatic sliding doors, she received a text that would save her the agony of having to deal with the unit clerks. She'd still have to sign in, but at least now she knew exactly where she was going. As she passed the first desk, the intern sitting there tried to hide his gaze as his eyes followed the movement of her body. She avoided his gaze as well, continuing at the same pace.

When she reached the metal detector at the security desk, the bald security guard curtly nodded his head at her and asked to see the bag. She placed it on the table and sat her phone and keys inside one of the baskets. She watched with a critical eye as the man searched carefully through her bag. She knew he wouldn't take anything, but security checks always made her nervous, and this time was no exception. She knew how to mask her anxiety with an eased practice by now, so even if she were hiding something, the guard wouldn't be able to tell.

He slid the bag to the other side of the metal detector.

"Please step through," he directed.

She walked through the detector, which didn't go off.

"Alright," he mumbled while sliding the basket holding her keys and phone over to her. "Have a nice day."

"Thanks, you too," murmured with a polite smile. She wondered about the new owners of this place. The walls and floor were a pristine white, obviously new and being well kept by a janitor with a higher salary than most. Both the desks she'd seen so far were new as well.

She strode over to the elevators. The building had received new ones since she'd last been there, but she supposed she shouldn't be surprised. It had been a long time since she last visited.

She strolled down a short corridor that led to the elevator, clicked the 'UP' button, and waited for it to come down. She supposed she should think of what to say when she got to her destination, but for once, her mind was blank. For the first time, her brilliant mind, always a storm of ideas, plans, and thoughts, was completely still. She closed her eyes and bit the inside of her lip, feeling a pang inside her chest. _Of course, _she thought. _Of course, even now, he's capable of making me feel something foreign._

The elevator beeped its arrival, and she quickly regained her composure. She courteously let the other passengers depart the machine before stepping on herself. She clicked the button for the fifth floor, allowing herself a moment of silence to breathe before she had to deal with more people. It wasn't that she didn't like people- she just wasn't in the mood to be bothered with them right now.

The machine beep again, alerting her that she'd reached her intended floor. As she stepped out and onto the floor, the 'hospital' smell assaulted her nose. The unit clerk looked up with tired eyes and smiled. She wasn't very old, but it was clear from her eyes that she'd seen enough things to last a lifetime. She obviously faced many families a day, and was probably relieved to have a single, calm person to talk to for a change.

"Hello," the clerk greeted. Even her voice was a tired, worn thing. "How may I help you?"

"Hi. I'm here to see the patient in room 505." She cut straight to the point, unable to even muster the effort to play games with this worker. She knew at one point she would have enjoyed toying with the poor lady, but couldn't bring herself to do it now.

The lady nodded her head. "Of course," she began typing at a computer. "A visitor for mister.."

"Holmes," she completed the sentence.

"Right. Could you sign in and give me your name, please?" the clerk handed her a clipboard with other names scrawled on it and started typing in at her computer again.

"Irene Adler," she said as she took the clipboard and a pen off the desk and wrote her name in neat cursive.

"Thank you very much, Miss Adler. Just let me print out this visitor's pass, and you can be on your way."

The pass took seconds to print out on the new computer, which she also supposed was thanks to the new owners of the hospital. She thanked the clerk as she took the pass, and then headed down the hall to room 505.

The door to the room was closed. She contemplated looking into the small window on the door, but decided against it. She knew she wouldn't be able to see anything through the drawn blinds.

She allowed another minute to herself. Was she even sure she wanted to go through with this? She was risking her _life_, for someone who wasn't even able to be aware of her presence. Should she have stayed at home? Would she regret this after stepping inside?

She knew the answer as soon as the question was formed. _No._ She would never forgive herself if she didn't see him at least once. She had to do this for herself. She took a deep breath and entered.

The first thing to meet her eyes surprised her, but at the same time did not. Sitting in a chair to the left of the younger Holmes was none other than John Watson.

He stared at her. She could tell he'd been crying by his pink, puffy eyes, but at the moment, he remained calm. He held Sherlock's hand in his own.

"Well," she began. "Aren't you going to say something?" She stepped into the room. "Question why I'm here, ask what I want, inquire as to how I'm-"

"Stop," John whispered hoarsely. "Just cut it out. Don't you ever get tired of playing games?"

This question took her off guard. Of all she was sure he wanted to know, she thought he'd interrogate her, not ask for her silence.

She then really thought about the question. _Don't you ever get tired of playing games?_ Of course she didn't. Playing games was what had gotten her so successful in the first place. It was her only way of surviving as a child, and even now, as an adult. It kept her entertained when she was bored. It allowed her to exact revenge on people when done wrong. Playing games was what she lived for.

_But that's not an answer,_ she thought.

"Yes," she sighed. Both pairs of open eyes widened at the response. Neither had expected such an honest answer. She walked to the chair on the opposite side of Sherlock.

"Yes, I do," she sat and continued. "I get tired of them every day, every hour, every _minute_ I have to play them. I grew up playing games, and I'm so tired of them, but I know I won't ever stop. I can't stop."

John didn't press, just listened to the confession. He swallowed and murmured, "I understand. We are creatures of habit, right?"

"Right." She looked down at the still form. She'd received a text from an anonymous number telling her the whereabouts and condition of the detective. It stated that he'd jumped off the roof of a hospital and had gone into a coma. It'd almost been three months, and his will stated that he wanted to be taken off life-support after three months. She'd flown in immediately to say her goodbyes.

Pulling her out of her thoughts, John asked, "How long are you staying?"

She looked up. "Only until we have to let him go." There were three more days before the months would be over.

It didn't go unnoticed to John how she used the word 'we', but he let it go. In the first few months he'd been angry Irene hadn't come to see Sherlock, but after many sleepless nights, he learned to forgive. It was the only way for him to be able to let all of his hurt, regret, and anger go.

"Good. I need someone to be in here with me." Once again, they were both surprised at another honest answer.

"I," she looked down. It wasn't easy for her to admit things like this. "I need some support, too." It was a small confession compared to John's but they both knew what she really meant. It was unknown to her to show any weakness; it always left her vulnerable in the past.

Both knew that in any other situation, they would never be this truthful with each other. They continued to talk the day away, finding comfort in the other's presence and words. They shared personal thoughts never told to anyone else, confessed to crimes, and even told embarrassing stories. They managed to laugh with each other by the end of the night. Neither saw the form between them twitching.

Irene glanced at the clock. "God, eleven already? I should really get going." She began to stand.

"Yeah, I should head out, too. Here, we can walk together."

They started gathering their belongings when they heard a faint mumble. Both looked up and spoke at the same time.

"What'd you say?"

"Was that you?"

They heard the mumbling again this time louder. They both felt the threat of tears as one whispered and one exclaimed, "Sherlock!"

The pale figure between them opened his grey eyes.


End file.
